


I know the weight of your throat

by tjesje



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Choking, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, M/M, Modern AU, PWP, Snowballing, jesus crashes his car into my room while im writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-07 01:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14069490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjesje/pseuds/tjesje
Summary: Grantaire is struck, briefly, by the fact he is head over heels for a dude who loves multi-grain loaf, who drinks orange juice with extra pulp and wears at least four different scented creams — who thinks A-Ha is a juice brand.





	I know the weight of your throat

Grantaire knows he’s frowning. He’s sitting on the edge of Enjolras’ enormous, blindingly white bathtub, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair falling in wet curls around his shoulders, dripping into his lap, and he’s watching Enjolras. Enjolras, who’s standing two feet away from him and rubbing some kind of cream made of god knows what and looking like sand and puke into the skin of his shoulder blades and his chest. _Enjolras,_ leader of the people and the rebellion, he’s heard (not that he’s an expert or whatever), who is apparently famous amongst rally circles and has people writing him absolute R-rated filth in lieu of fan letters, who thinks A-Ha is a brand of orange juice.

Grantaire’s frowning. He frowns and wonders when exactly he fell into this particular brand of domesticity.

“Yo, E,” he starts, kicking his legs out and scraping his big toenail over the pristine tiles. “Which do you like better, apple or orange juice?” It’s inane, the question is, and he knows it, and knows by now, after years of experience, how Enjolras’ eyebrow must have arched up into his fringe and how his lips open a little when he frowns. Enjolras makes a half-turn with a tilt of his hips, only one-quarter of his face facing the mirror and the other three-quarters for Grantaire and Grantaire alone. “What?”

Ah, there’s the arch. “Apple or orange, dude. I want to know for groceries later. Apple’s the best, orange is for yuppies — for the record.”

“You never do groceries.” Enjolras turns back to the mirror and his own reflection and pins his hair back with steady, experienced hands and his long fingers crooked around the small clip. “You always wait until there’s nothing but raw onions and then beg me to do them."

“I’ll do ‘em this time, I swear, and I’ll even get the disgusting bread you like, the one with the seeds in.” Grantaire gets up and takes the barely two steps to press himself against Enjolras’ back, making eye contact with him in the mirror. “So, apple or orange?”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and grabs a small jar of cream, smearing a small drop of it on his nose and massaging it into his face. It smells a little like flowers. Any kind, he supposes, since he’s less than an amateur and leaves the expert flowery shit to Jehan, and he looks forward to sniffing Enjolras’ face (though he guesses that’s also a little weird, maybe) and naming things he thinks might be flowers while Enjolras rolls his eyes and eventually tells him it’s irises or violets or lotus or _anything_ Grantaire doesn’t care about until it’s attached to Enjolras.

Enjolras takes his sweet time rubbing his cheeks and they’re a little red when he’s done. Grantaire’s almost too distracted by the sight of them in the mirror to hear Enjolras’ sighed response.

“I like orange. Get some with pulp.” He closes the jar of cream and sets it back in the medicine cabinet, next to his own vitamin supplements and Grantaire’s hair products. “You’d _better_ get me my multi-grain. And some cheese. You can use my card.”

He tries to turn around but presses his hip into Grantaire’s crotch instead, amazed at how Grantaire manages to look pretty unconcerned about anything except for Enjolras’ face scrunching up in the mirror and looking increasingly irritated at his lack of space. “Do you _mind_?”

Grantaire smirks, watching Enjolras’ eyelid twitch and his fingers curl. “Not at all. Do _you_?”

He grinds his flaccid cock into Enjolras’ hip and he knows they only just got clean and that it’s eleven in the morning, but something about apple juice versus orange juice and nice cheese and knowing that he can leave and come _home_ and knowing Enjolras will be there waiting for him grumbling about how he got white bread again set him off and he can’t stop anymore.

He leans back slightly, just enough for Enjolras to turn, and waits for him to look up. Enjolras does, pins him with a look and hands on his hips and licks his lips before his gaze falls down to Grantaire’s towel, and Grantaire is _gone._

He steps closer again, feels his hands shake before he presses them into the counter, leans in and presses his lips into Enjolras’. There’s buzzing under his skin, a steady humming like functioning machinery in his veins and he bites and licks into Enjolras’ mouth like he’s wired to do so.

Enjolras is quiet, as quiet as he always is during these kinds of things, but his grip is steady and grounding when Grantaire moves to latch himself onto Enjolras’ neck, to lick a stripe up the side of it and into the shell of his ear. He groans and whispers ‘please’ when Enjolras shudders, and feels Enjolras push him towards their bedroom.

He trips, which is a dumb and very uncool thing to do during foreplay in his opinion, and the perpetrator is his own shirt and underwear, but he’s still sucking and licking at the soft spot behind Enjolras’ ear and when his foot catches on the edge of the v-neck he’d haphazardly tossed on the floor the day before, he bites down, hard. He’s about to apologise but the unholy sound leaving Enjolras’ lips a second later makes the words stick in his throat like molasses. It’s a strangled moan he’s never heard Enjolras make before, much less any of the people in the cheap pornos he watched as a teenager (a _lot_ of pornos), and Grantaire groans an _ohhh God_ into Enjolras’ neck before enthusiastically dropping to his knees in front of their bed.

Somehow their towels survived the ride and Grantaire tugs at the one covering Enjolras’ waist, sitting between his legs, until it falls open and lands on the floor. Enjolras’ chest heaves when it comes loose and Grantaire chances a look up, at the small red spots on his pale cheeks and his dilated pupils.

Enjolras is half-hard, dick rising up like a vulgar invitation, a little crooked and flushed and the pulsing and buzzing under Grantaire’s skin gets louder and more unhinged. It feels like a heart attack and he thinks he may have to get his mouth on Enjolras before he _dies._

Enjolras’ hands bury themselves into his wet hair, neither grasping nor pulling, when he licks him into his mouth.

He keeps them there when Grantaire licks around the head of his cock and wraps his lips around him, sucking a little, testing at first, to see what mood Enjolras is in today, but Enjolras doesn’t seem inclined to let him know, letting him do what he wants, whatever he feels like. It makes Grantaire feel like a drowning man, a little. Both too small and too big for his skin, and he doesn’t exactly know what he’s thinking, except for that Enjolras tastes like salt and like skin, and he can _smell_ flowers and the shower gel Enjolras never lets him use.

He curves his palms and his fingers around Enjolras’ hips and swallows to take more of him, hearing Enjolras’ breath hitch and feeling his fingers tighten on the back of his head.

He hums, pressing his tongue into the side of the rapidly hardening dick inside his mouth when pulling back and Enjolras chokes.

Grantaire keeps his hand on the base of him when he sits back on his heels and looks up with his lips slicked with spit and asks “what do you need?” because he’s a considerate lover and his mother raised him right. He makes up for it by slowly stroking and clenching his hand at random intervals and feels it’s an achievement when it takes Enjolras a little longer than usual to answer.

“This is… this is good, this is fine.”

Enjolras lowers himself down onto the edge of the sheets, knees still spread wide and clenching the bedspread in his fingers and _God,_ God, yes, _yes_ , Enjolras is a dick, but so is he and he loves him and his otherworldly face and stupid principles and he throws an arm out and gropes blindly for their nightstand.

He has to scoot his knees over their carpet and only huffs a little when his fingers can’t reach, but lets out a small, sharp sound from the back of his throat when his fingers close around the tube of lube they’ve frequently abused to the point where the bottom of it had to be taped back shut.

He sits back on his haunches, throws the tube next to Enjolras where it bounces on the bed, and grabs for Enjolras’ cock, lapping at the head of it like a cat, (Grantaire loves cats but forgives himself for tainting their image by using them as an analogy for him being a fan of sucking dick) and looking right up.

“Are you in a rush?” Enjolras chastises, face mocking up until Grantaire leans forward and slowly, _slowly_ swallows the full length of Enjolras’ dick, pinching the soft inside of his thigh with one hand and using his other to move down to his sack.

Enjolras’ legs are shuddering and one hand is once again tightly fisted in his hairs while the other holds onto the sheets like a lifeline. When Grantaire’s nose hits the dusting of curly pubic hairs at the base and he swallows, he hears Enjolras suck in a sharp breath and feels the muscles of his thighs jump beneath his palm.

He uses the hand he’s not using to give Enjolras the ball massage of his righteous life to grab the tube of lube and uncaps it with the palm of one hand and two of his fingers almost on instinct.

Grantaire takes his time to shift on his knees, drags his mouth back while sucking and hollowing his cheeks, the hum under his skin like a million bees threatening to break out when he hears Enjolras’ breathless gasp – doesn’t quite pull his mouth away but leaves his lips at the tip as a steady pressure.

He sees Enjolras watch him wet his fingers with an open mouth and he has to pull off and grin into his thigh for a couple of seconds, until Enjolras _wiggles_ impatiently and knocks his knee into Grantaire’s shoulder, Grantaire’s cheek mushing into his thigh.

“Alright, alright, impatient.” He glides a lube-slicked finger across Enjolras’ asshole. “Are you in a _rush_?”

He silences Enjolras’ retort when he presses in, the muscle clenching as Enjolras let’s out a rush of air like a sigh, loud in the silent room. He bends forward again, first dragging his tongue over his sack, then licking up to the crown of his cock, now so, so incredibly hard and flushed dark, curved upwards, and massaging the inside of his thigh.

He gets to the first knuckle before he has to stop and add more lube, and Enjolras shakes impatiently, holding him with both fists now. He slowly works Enjolras open, not intending to do more than that, Enjolras’ hips twitching and pushing down into his hand, his breath winding tight in his throat before he gasps and wraps his lips around him again.

He slides his finger in and out in time with the workings of his throat, and it’s several long minutes before Grantaire adds a second finger and simultaneously opens his throat for more. Enjolras’ breath leaves his mouth all at once, but he doesn’t gasp to take in more, just _stares_ at him, hips still slightly twitching and fucking Grantaire’s mouth while Grantaire does his best to work his fingers a little deeper and curve them to touch and stroke the yielding shape of his prostate.

Enjolras grasps for Grantaire’s hair and his shoulder simultaneously and breaks the silence by using the breath he’d only just gotten back to form a string of breathless, filthy profanity. His voice shakes uncontrollably by the last couple syllables of it and Grantaire strokes his fingers inside of him again, just to see if he can make Enjolras say those completely ridiculous words again.

He hums a laugh, breathless from the exercise of this so early in the day, breathless from how ridiculous he feels, being in love with an idiot who likes orange juice best and sometimes forgets to eat for days.

When he curls his fingers again, breathing out heavily through his nose and once again pressing his nose into the blond pubic hairs he actually kind of loves but saw Enjolras use actual conditioner on once, Enjolras lets out a startled shout and releases his shoulder from his vice grip, filling Grantaire’s mouth and his throat with cum he _doesn’t_ exactly like the taste of, but he can think of worse things, just not at the moment.

Enjolras sits heaving on the bed still looking at him, and he’d grin, but he kind of has a mouthful of cum, and also, he really wants to kiss. He slips his fingers from Enjolras’ ass and wipes them on the sheets like he knows Enjolras hates.

His lips are swollen, they’re covered in spit, spit and _other_ stuff, and his mouth is full and it’s a bad idea. Absolutely terrible, but he still rises from his knees and presses his mouth to Enjolras’ and opens it, licks into Enjolras’, and _fuck_ , _oh my God,_ Enjolras groans, accepts that Grantaire has just filled his mouth with spittle and his _own cum_ and today feels like he opened a dark, mysterious box full of Enjolras Kinks, but he’s certainly not complaining.

He presses his tongue into the roof of Enjolras’ mouth and it’s filthy, the way saliva and semen trail from the corners of their lips while they breathe hot air into each other.

Enjolras doesn’t bother with any formalities when he closes his fist around Grantaire’s stiff, weeping cock and roughly spreads his pre-cum, his tongue still very far down Grantaire’s throat and his cum mixing with their spit and mingling between their mouths like he’s hungry for it.

He strokes Grantaire hard and rough and fast and Grantaire gasps, his mouth hanging open and Enjolras sucking on his tongue.

He knows his face pinches when he comes. Enjolras’ told him many times, that he looks surprised at first, then pained and then ridiculous. He does it anyway, when Enjolras brushes the palm of the hand he’s not using to work Grantaire’s brain into shutting down across his throat and presses hard enough for him to notice – he comes with Enjolras’ name on his breath and his cum on his tongue.

He slouches, still bent over Enjolras’ legs, and Enjolras falls back and allows him to lie down next to him even though there’s cum drying on his stomach.

His eyes widen when he watches Enjolras close his mouth and swallow, and he’s not sure what else he expected him to do, really.

He curls his arm around Enjolras’ shoulders, kisses him, sighs, nuzzles into his chest and waits. They listen to the sound of the world going about its business outside their apartment windows for as long as it takes for Grantaire to start dozing off.

It’s quiet for a while.

Enjolras whacks him over the head.

“Wh-!”

Enjolras untangles himself, sitting up, and moves to grab the towel from the floor. “Just making sure you’re still alive.”

Grantaire groans. “I’m not. You’re killing me.”

“I’ll notify the authorities.”

Enjolras stands up and Grantaire gets a beautiful view of Enjolras using his towel to wipe most of the lube from the crack of his ass before stretching his legs and walking back into the bathroom, without a doubt to redo his morning routine.

He dozes off for a couple minutes before he’s covered in a handful of wet wipes, a credit card and a grocery list. There’s an addition at the bottom - he can pick out dessert, there’s specific crackers Enjolras wants him to get, he’s allowed _one_ pint of ice-cream. The usual.

Penciled in, underneath a plea to stop buying Star Magazine, a small _1 gallon of apple juice_ stares at him, and he does his best to contain his grin and the gentle pump of his fist until he’s safely outside.

 

**Author's Note:**

> ah, baby's first porn. smut, if you will. wrote this at 3 am hopped on caffeine and morrissey, which i don't recommend.


End file.
